Percy Jackson: Sea of Monsters
(2013)
Thor Freudenthal’s half-hearted sequel to Chris Columbus’
2010 sub-Harry Potter Young Adult
adaptation reeks of a budget-strapped follow-up. Movies that don’t feel the
urge to hit the two-hour finish line are fine by me, but when the quest for Golden
Fleece is a one-stop shop it’s clear something has gone seriously awry
somewhere. While there are a couple of sprightly elders livening up the
supporting roles, Sea of Monsters mostly
fails to pass muster, even stood next to its slight but likeable predecessor.
Reputedly costing less than The Lightning Thief, the bean counters obviously decided it made
financial sense based on that movie’s post-theatrical earnings. That is, it got
made by the skin of its teeth. Everyone is looking for the next Potter, then the next Twilight and now the next Hunger Games. Percy Jackson takes its cues of destiny’s child from Potter, along with the assorted
sidekicks/ mentor types, but it also hearkens to Chronicles of Narnia in its overt references to religion/mythology
(Christianity, the Greek pantheon). Narnia
also scraped together a (second) sequel based on long-term maths rather than
instant benefits after Prince Caspian
floundered.
So Sea of Monsters
has to make do with a director of a mid-range comedies (Hotel for Dogs, Diary of a
Wimpy Kid) and the loss of the entirety of the adult cast of Lightning Thief (so no Brosnan, Bean, McKidd.
Thurman, Dawson or Coogan). Anthony Head fills in comfortably for Brosnan as
Chiron, a Rupert Giles-type professor with four hooves. Stanley Tucci makes one
of his dazzling cameos as Mr D (did they think calling him Dionysus would be
too potent a signifier of debauchery?), perpetually attempting to fill a glass
of fine wine only for it to transform to water before he is able to drink a
drop (at Zeus’ decree). He also has a winningly disreputable taste for stealing
ideas and palming them off as his own. Nathan Fillion cameos as Hermes, the
father of the not-that-threatening-really returning bad teen Luke (Jake Abel,
who gets the occasional decent line delivery, ”What are you doing? Don’t walk on my roof!” but lacks a sense of
genuine menace). Fillion, still eating all the pies, is content to dine out on
the decade old memory of Firefly (Hercules Busts Heads; “The best TV show ever, so, of course,
cancelled”).
The adult support aside, it’s Brandon T Jackson as satyr
Grover who yet again steals the show (it’s questionable why no one comments on
satyrs being naked from the waist down, centaurs too; is it only because
there’s a lot of hair concealing their bits?). When he’s not off screen and
captured, that is. He disappears for a long period, but instantly reaps the
laughs when he resurfaces disguised as a lady Cyclops. Logan Lerman has an open-faced
guilelessness that could prove irritating if he wasn’t also a decent actor. He
isn’t especially well-served by Percy, a strictly predictable role of
good-natured heroism fuelled by a ready supply of platitudes. Not helping
matters is the introduction of his sub-Ted “Theodore” Logan half-brother, Tyson
(Douglas Smith); he’s a dozy but brave dread-head Cyclops. Alexandra Daddio
returns as Annabeth (the Hermione role), Athena’s daughter) while Leven Rambin
is Clarisse, a headstrong and haughty half-daughter of Ares. These bastard
offspring are rendered quite innocuous by the dedicatedly unremarkable
storytelling.
Any given high point of Greek mythology is ironed into anodyne
shape, complete with strange connections between given legends presumably decided
by pulling names out of a hat. Luke plans to resurrect the Titan Kronos, father
of Zeus (a victim of mass patricide, although to be fair he did have a habit of eating his own
brood). His remains just happen to reside in a casket that bears a strong resemblance
to Raiders’ ark (Titan himself is
more you standard issue demonic horned god type, when he is mustered). To
complete this task Luke requires the Golden Fleece, a rather non-descript piece
of rug here but one with the handy power to heal pretty much anything and
everything. In turn, Percy requires it
to save the tree that protects Camp Half-Blood (there’s a first draft site name
if ever there was one).
The Fleece is guarded over by Polyphemus the Cyclops, who
for some reason now lives on Circe’s island. In the middle of the Bermuda
Triangle. This mish-mash might have been all right if used to blend elements
into an inventive melange, but the result is consistently limp. On the plus
side there’s a whacky car journey with the Graeae that is at least lively. It
takes the one-eyed sisters and sticks them in a demonic taxicab that could be
an outtake from Bill Murray’s Scrooged.
The insides of Charybdis seem to have been half-inspired by Gilliam’s Baron Munchausen, but such inventiveness
is few and far between.
It’s nice to see a hippocampus, but why is it even necessary
when Percy is travelling across water… which he has command over? The special
effects aren’t so special either, especially for a movie that reportedly wasn’t
that cheap, as if all designers just
couldn’t summon any enthusiasm. And that’s Sea
of Monsters all over. It’s okay, and there’s at least more life than in
those dismayingly charmless Sam Worthington Perseus flicks, but its still quite
sad to see such rich material wasted so profusely.
Sea of Monsters
didn’t do that much less business than the first so, with a fourth Narnia tentatively planned, The Titan’s Curse may well follow. But
if this series does, just about, continue to make sense financially, at some
point the producers will be forced to recast, drastically reduce the budgets
(they may well end up as straight-to-DVD fare), or even reboot it in a TV
incarnation. To realistically ride the crest of the Potter wave Percy needed to
become a movie series almost as soon as its 2005 novel debut, not five years
later. As I understand it, the Jackson
faithful aren’t that keen on the way the makers keep messing with the books,
giving the movies even less reason to be. This is a series where it’s left to the
supporting characters maintain the interest and where the myths are so neutered
as to be virtually unrecognisable. Also, the title’s misleading. I could only
count one (monster).
**1/2
Comments
Post a Comment